


Offer Blood and Devotion

by theswearingkind



Series: Five Times The Blackhawks Didn't Date Hockey Players (And One Time They Did) [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, POV Bisexual Character, POV Character of Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswearingkind/pseuds/theswearingkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And holy shit, he’s sharing the bathroom with Duncan Keith <i>in a gay bar</i>, and unless Keith is wing-manning it tonight—which Hakim doubts, since the number of straight wingmen he’s ever seen venture solo into the bathroom of a gay bar could be counted on one hand with five fingers left over—that means that Duncan Keith, the guy who has basically led the ‘Hawks defensively all year, the guy who once made a save so sick that Hakim straight-up got a semi in the middle of a game, that means that Duncan Keith fucks dudes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Offer Blood and Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains zero bloodplay or kink, even though the title sort of makes it seem like it's going to. All blood/devotion is of the hockey fandom variety, so...sorry if that's what you were looking for?
> 
> Title from The City Drive's "Defeated," which someone desperately needs to vid the Blackhawks to. (Fun fact! The lead singer of that band played Merton on _Big Wolf on Campus_ , a show that is not available anywhere EVEN THOUGH IT NEEDS TO BE.)
> 
> ETA: The former player with whom Hakim and his cousin meet was originally Bobby Hull, not Bobby Orr, but after learning about Hull's history of domestic violence and racist comments, I changed it. I apologize for not having done my research better before writing this piece in the first place.

Hakim’s parents, rest their souls, were always among the faithful, so he spent a lot of time growing up sitting in the stands in front of a rink that was half-empty on a good day, watching guys years past their prime or kids who hadn’t reached it yet slog away in pursuit of something they were never going to achieve: the Cup, sure, but more than that, too; the thrill of playing for a team that helped them be as good as they could be, for a town that gave a damn the way Chicago used to.

Hakim always gave a damn. He’d tried to play, when he was younger, but he was a disaster on the ice, two left feet and no sense of timing, a complete inability to keep track of the puck; it made him mad for a lot of years, especially since he was _built_ like a hockey player, tall and broad-shouldered, and it seemed like life was just laughing at him every time he’d go to pick up his cousin from practice and every new coach would get that “holy shit there’s two of them” look in their eyes before Hakim would have to say, no, he really didn’t play, no, _really_. 

He was mostly over it by college, though, content to go the games when he could—something that happened a lot less after the car accident; his aunt and uncle couldn’t swing the cost of the tickets all that often, not when they were still getting used to having an extra mouth to feed, an extra kid’s tuition to pay—to listen on the radio when he couldn’t, and sometimes to jerk off thinking about the time his high school girlfriend Tia let him eat her out while she wore his jersey and nothing else. It’s been awesome watching the team start to come alive again, seeing Kane and Toews light it up for the past couple of years; it’s hard to believe they’re just this side of being rookies, especially with Toews getting the C this season. 

That’s what he keeps trying to tell Jake, anyway, but Jake is distracted by someone tall, blonde, and built, so it’s slow going. Jake has many virtues as a roommate and as a friend, but he doesn’t give two shits about hockey, particularly not when guys who look like _that_ are smiling at him from ten feet away, the lights of the club catching on his lip ring, and—alright, that’s fair. If Hakim hadn’t been completely striking out all night, he probably wouldn’t be talking about hockey right now, either. 

“I’m gonna go take a leak,” he says finally, just to avoid the awkward third-wheel situation he can see developing in front of him.

The bathroom isn’t really crowded, even if a couple of the stalls clearly have more than body in them, and Hakim manages to snag a urinal pretty quick. He’s minding his own business, looking straight ahead, when the bathroom door opens, Hakim catches a glimpse of the guy coming in, and he does an actual, literal double-take.

The guy’s hair is down and loose, not slicked back with sweat and gel like it usually is, and in place of a jersey he’s wearing clothes that wouldn’t look out of place at one of the metal shows Hakim’s cousin drags him to sometimes, but it doesn’t matter because Hakim recognizes him anyway: that’s Duncan Keith. That’s Duncan Keith, Hakim is sharing a bathroom with Duncan Keith, and maybe it’s a sign of how mostly boring his life has been until now that it is pretty much the coolest fucking thing that Hakim has ever—

And holy shit, he’s sharing the bathroom with Duncan Keith _in a gay bar_ , and unless Keith is wing-manning it tonight—which Hakim doubts, since the number of straight wingmen he’s ever seen venture solo into the bathroom of a gay bar could be counted on one hand with five fingers left over—that means that Duncan Keith, the guy who has basically led the ‘Hawks defensively all year, the guy who once made a save so sick that Hakim straight-up got a semi in the middle of a game, that means that Duncan Keith fucks dudes. 

And when Duncan Keith avoids the three available urinals on the other side of the wall and picks the one right next to Hakim, instead, Hakim starts getting hard so fast his piss dries up mid-stream. 

He goes home with Duncan—it’d be weird to keep mentally referring to him by his full name, Hakim’s pretty sure—and 18 hours later, he’s still there, working toward round four when there’s a pounding on the door that makes Duncan pull back, groaning. 

“Fuck,” Duncan says. “I forgot I told Seabs he could come over for dinner tonight.” Hakim only has half a second to let that stutter through his brain—Seabs is Brent Seabrook, fuck, his cousin would flip out if Hakim could actually tell him—before Duncan is leaning back in, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “Do you mind?” he asks, mouth warm under the jut of Hakim’s jaw. “I bet he brought enough for three.”

So that’s how Hakim ends up eating dinner with the stars of the Blackhawks defensive line. He meets the rest of the team, too, eventually, and mentally pats himself on the back when he manages to actually carry on a normal conversation with a few of them instead of just staring open-mouthed the whole time. 

(He does still do a fair bit of staring, though, because it’s so fucking _cool_. Toews and Kane are just as weird about each other off of the ice as they are on it, weird enough that Hakim half-thinks, _maybe?_ , but Kane brings a girl with him and Toews doesn’t seem to mind her, so maybe not. 

Sharp, meanwhile, is somehow even better-looking in person. “Eh, I’ve had hotter,” Sharp’s wife says, laughing, when Hakim shares that observation. 

“I’m her charity case,” Sharp adds, flashing his dimples at them over his beer, and in between trying not to embarrass himself in front of Andrew Ladd and actually having a good time, Hakim catches himself wondering if one day he and Duncan might have inside jokes like that of their own. It’s still early, but he hopes so.)

Hakim’s birthday rolls around after they’ve been dating a little more than three months; he’s not really expecting anything, but then Duncan gets Hakim and his cousin seats in the box and sets them up with a photo op with Bobby Orr—Hakim really does just stare that time, but his cousin cries, so whatever, staring was the less creepy option. It’s already pretty much the best birthday Hakim’s ever had, but later, after they drop Hakim’s cousin back at his girlfriend’s place, Duncan drives them back to the Madhouse, sneaks them into the locker room, lets Hakim try on one of his actual game jerseys, and then forever seals the deal by blowing Hakim in the team showers while the water beats down around them.

They break up a couple of months into the next season; it’s no one thing, just a bunch of little shit that starts to build up until they go days at a time without talking. They drag it out for too long before they finally make the break, and it’s messy and terrible and Hakim hates every second of it. 

Once it’s all said and done, he goes through a period of time when he just can’t watch the ‘Hawks, can’t stand to think about hockey at all, and he hates Duncan, _hates_ him, for taking that away from him. It’s not until he sees photos of Duncan missing several prominent teeth that he feels something loosen in his chest, and he can laugh about it. He sends Duncan a text, _you always used your teeth too much anyway_ —that probably counts as an inside joke, he thinks, a little wistfully—and the night Kane sinks it in OT, Hakim is the loudest fan in Chicago, back in red, back among the faithful.


End file.
